


No I don't want to fall in love, with you (Wicked Game)

by CannibalCuriosity



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Denial of Feelings, Dreams, Drug Use, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mary Morstan Dies, One sided struggle, Parentlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock is a Mess, secret feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannibalCuriosity/pseuds/CannibalCuriosity
Summary: *THIS WILL BECOME AN EXPLICIT FIC.*Sherlock Holmes was a selfless man, despite what everyone wanted to believe about him. He managed so well to keep himself at an arms distance, all while immersing himself entirely in the people that he loved and cared about deeply. After his fall, and his reconciliation with John Watson, he finds himself far too involved and getting too close too quickly after realizing his feelings for John on their drunken adventure before John was married.John is struggling to know whether the love of his lying wife is enough, and whether or not her past is too dangerous for himself and for Rosie. The outcome of his decision is one John had absolutely no control over.





	1. The Dream and Daydream

**Author's Note:**

> NO SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER! Sorry for those of you who were hoping it would come quickly. (Don't hate me). Sherlock Holmes is a bit of an emotional mess and some of his deepest kept thoughts are brought to some kind of light. There is depictions of drug use in this work. Sherlock Holmes is a user. There will also be quite a bit of angst and tension in this work before the tension comes to a head and is relieved. There is not any infidelity in this work, just a one sided struggle with feelings for a bit.

It was always Sherlock Holmes.

It always had been, and always would be until the day John Watson was put in the ground. Two years of thinking that his best friend had killed himself, and it was finally revealed to him that Sherlock, had in fact, not died. He hadn’t hit the ground at all. Two whole years of feeling lost and feeling utterly inadequate as friend, and the cheeky bastard had the audacity to show himself to John in the middle of a date -- No, his goddamn proposal to Mary. 

When Sherlock moved the glasses he had stolen from another table off of the bridge of his nose, John could literally feel his heart breaking all over again. It was a relieving and angering experience, all wrapped up into one, sudden burst of action. 

When Sherlock asked about his moustache, he couldn’t help but tackle the man out of anger and try to wrap his hands around the other man’s neck to squeeze the life out of that clever throat of Sherlock’s. Most of what he had been yelling at the curly haired detective was drowned out by the commotion he had created, but a few phrases rang out clear as a bell. 

“You absolute and utter cock! Two years! Two bloody years I thought you were dead!” He shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the other man as a group of several people pulled him off of Sherlock. He was doing his very best to keep his voice from breaking, but the emotion that washed over him cut deeply like some surgical blade, making it hard to ignore the tightness in his throat and the burning in his eyes. 

Sherlock managed to get to his feet, tending to his now busted lip with the corner of a nearby napkin. He had thought, in his clever little brain, that John would be simply ecstatic to see him, but he supposed he couldn’t be right about absolutely everything. Wasn’t that what normal people did? Jump for joy at the reveal of some fascinating miracle? He wasn’t certain, but he hadn’t exactly imagined his shorter friend would try to strangle him in the middle of a restaurant. 

***

They were kicked out of two other restaurants in Sherlock’s attempt to explain how and why he disappeared for so long. John was his closest friend, and he had to, in his own way, make sure that the other was unaware of his living situation. He had managed to go deep undercover and expose quite a few underground crime rings, not to mention track down most of Moriarty’s crime syndicate. He had been a busy man over those two years, and didn’t exactly have a chance to communicate with John that he had lived and apologize for lying to him. 

That night had given him a busted lip and a bloody nose, but as the night wound down, he knew that John was slowly forgiving him. Focusing more on the relief of knowing that Sherlock was alive rather than being angry for not knowing for so long. Though, John wasn’t entirely certain how keen he would be on romping around London with Sherlock again on cases. He had a future to think about, a future with Mary. The opportunity for a normal life and he would not let Sherlock Holmes take that from him, not this time. 

*** 

Sherlock’s nose healed and the bitterness that John held within himself towards his best friend faded. Eventually, as it drew closer to John’s wedding, the retired army doctor decided that it was best to ask Sherlock to be his best man when the other wasn’t distracted by a case, or fiddling with something.

Sitting with Sherlock in the kitchen, he intertwined his own fingers on the table top and looked up to the dark haired man. He took several long seconds to compose his thoughts before opening his mouth to speak, and when he did, Sherlock seemed to hone in on him, and simultaneously look right through him. It was almost as if John could see Sherlock’s brain stop working and the cogs start to stutter and smoke as he tried to comprehend what John was saying.

“I want you to be my best man, Sherlock. I would rather spend my wedding day, the happiest day of my life-- and don’t say it, because, yes, it is. I would rather spend that day with the two people I love and care about most in the entire world. So, Mary Morstan…. And….”

Sherlock stared blankly at John for a long while, eyes unblinking and head inclined the slightest bit down to meet John’s gaze entirely. “.. Yes…” He nodded some, averting his eyes for a moment before capturing the other man’s gaze again. The other man sighed and withdrew his hands into his lap, leaning back in the kitchen chair and refocusing his gaze.

“And you, Sherlock. You bloody idiot.” 

Again, Sherlock’s eyes blinked quite a bit rapidly before settling on John, unblinking and staring right through the other. He was holding an entirely conversation with John in his head, all while he stood extremely still, one arm half extended to his coffee cup and the other resting in the air a bit in the center of his chest as if he was making a hand motion. 

_“Of course, John. I would be completely honoured to be your best man. In fact, I was never fully aware that I was considered your best friend, or even in that high of a regard. I am happy that you have found happiness in Mary, if happy is something I am capable of. You deserve to spend your special day surrounded by people you love and admire, and if you consider me among them, I must even consider making a speech to show my gratitude. Though I find weddings superficial and unsavory, as well as a waste of precious time and monetary resources, I will attend, in full. I will even play violin for the first bride groom dance of the evening, if you would like. Thank you, John, for including me in something so special in your life, that you would even consider me your best friend.”_

Though, none of this was spoken out loud and Sherlock was snapped back to reality by John calling his name for what was the third time. 

“Sherlock, that’s starting to get a bit scary now.” John chuckled, visibly uncomfortable by the consuming stare Sherlock had been drilling into John’s forehead. 

“Ah, yes. Yes, John. Of course I’ll be your best man.” He nodded, picking up his cup from the table top and taking a sip from it. He saw John make a face and squint up at the other a bit in concern. Sherlock looked down just as an eyeball floated to the surface of the caramel colored liquid in his cup. He apparently had been more distracted than he originally thought, though, it was not as awful as his mind had imagined.

“How was that?” John asked curiously, sitting back a bit more in his chair and clearing his throat. 

“Surprisingly not awful.” 

“Look, Sherlock, I know that I’m asking a lot of you, but I… It means a lot to me that you’re still going to be there. I don’t make many friends easily, you knew that from the day I walked into that lab, and having you back is…” He puffed his cheeks out a bit as he blew a deep breath from his lungs. “It’s a relief to have my best friend back. You gave me a miracle, like I asked for.”

A small smile quirked at the edge of Sherlock’s lips and he bowed his head some. “I am sorry, again, John. For causing you so much pain, but Moriarty had to be stopped. He had to believe that he had won.” 

“I forgive you, Sherlock. You utter cock.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

***  
It was the same dream every night as Sherlock laid still, not fully asleep, but not awake. 

_John came to him in the night, eyes red from what Sherlock could only deduce was crying. Mary had left him, like the others had for how attached John was to Sherlock and his cases. He was always so eager to see what the next case would be, see how the curly haired detective would solve the next murder, or theft, or even the simplest of case. That drove a wedge so deep into his love life that he found himself alone more often than not, running through women so quickly he forgot most of their names. Mary, had been the exception, or so he thought. He stayed with her for six months before proposing, but Sherlock’s continued intervention drove her away, leaving John with nothing but Sherlock Holmes to return to._

_John was visibly angry, upset and blaming Sherlock for the absence of his lover. It cut Sherlock deep to see John so distant and upset, putting his head in his hands and breaking down over breakfast. Spending days locked away in his room and coming home late from pubs with the smell of alcohol on his breath. One day, John approached Sherlock in one of his stupors, smelling of whiskey and… Cigarettes? John didn’t smoke, but his breath told a different story. He wet his lips with his tongue, standing in front of Sherlock’s chair and watching him as he looked up to the shorter man in front of him. He waited for some kind of venomous comment from John, something akin to what those in Scotland Yard called him. Instead, he received a kinder gaze, and softer words._

_“Maybe they were all right, Sherlock…” He began. “Maybe they were right that I can’t stay away from you. Not just the dangers of the bloody cases, but you. I tried to move on with Mary after you… ‘died’, but I couldn’t even do that properly. My heart wasn’t in it, and she knew, even though she made me happy, it would never be the same as… you.”_

_At that, Sherlock was dumbfounded, tilting his head up some to further meet John’s eyes. “John... “_

_The doctor moved forward and put his hands on either side of Sherlock’s face, tilting his head up a bit and bringing his lips down silently, moving closer inch by inch to meet Sherlock’s lips._

Just before their lips met, Sherlock woke up in his bed, alone, and staring at the ceiling. It was always this dream, in the countdown to John’s wedding. It was always John reciprocating Sherlock’s heavily buried feelings for his friend. Something Sherlock wanted, but could never admit to either of them that they did, not to mention John made it blatantly clear that he wasn’t gay. The detective had no reason to think otherwise, besides how he kept his appearance. He could argue a point of feeling some form of… tension between them from time to time when they locked eyes for long periods of time, or came home from a successful case, but nothing ever came of those moments. It burned Sherlock inside to look at so many wasted opportunities, but he would rather repress himself until the day he died rather than ruin his friendship with John Watson. His only proper friend, the only one who, despite it all, understood Sherlock on a level he felt no one else was capable. 

He sat up off of his mattress and ran his fingers through his mess of curls before rubbing his temples and swinging his legs out of bed. He padded across the room to pulled on his dressing gown. It was just barely four o’clock in the morning, and the emptiness of his flat made him swallow thickly and look towards the window. Knowing John was not sleeping fitfully up the stairs, and knowing that he rested comfortably beside Mary made his chest burn with a jealousy he had never known before in his entire life. He had always been the one to separate himself from his feelings, or any form of envy that he felt inside of him. Sherlock Holmes didn’t have time to feel envy for other people, especially not people in relationships. He always considered himself married to his work, but the loneliness that was creeping up his spine made him feel… vulnerable. 

He picked up his phone and checked the screen, noticing a few missed texts from John. The most recent of which reading:

_Stag Night tomorrow night, if you’re willing. You mentioned something about taking me out to pubs for an experiment with alcohol?_

Sherlock smiled a bit down at his phone and ran his thumb over the screen before sending a text in reply. John wouldn’t reply quickly, he was of course asleep beside his bride to be.

_Yes, of course. A ‘pub crawl’ of sorts, I believe they call it. -SH_

He sat his phone on his desk and sat down in his armchair, crossing his legs and lifted his arms, placing his palms and outstretched fingers together. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, pressing the tips of his middle fingers just against the soft flesh of his chin. It didn’t take long for him to sink into his mind palace and continue his dream from earlier, imaging his rosy cheeked John Watson mere inches from his lips. 

_I love you, Sherlock Holmes._

In the dim light of the street lamps outside, it was obvious a single tear slipped down Sherlock’s cheek.


	2. You should leave your lover so that we can choose eachother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *DRUG USE IS IN THIS CHAPTER (not graphically depicted)/ AS WELL AS SEX UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF SAID DRUGS (not hatefully explicit)*  
> John Watson is getting married, not to mention he has a baby on the way.  
> When John learns of Mary's true identity, and what it is that she used to do for a living, he's conflicted with how that will effect his life long term.  
> Rosie is born and things get icy with he and Mary. 
> 
> Sherlock has taken interest in a case that could quite possibly kill him to keep his mind distracted from his newfound feelings of jealousy and his hateful dreams that he believes could never be reality. He also takes to making his longings a bit more realistic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DRUG USE (not graphically depicted)/ DRUG INFLUENCED SEX AHEAD (not hatefully explicit)*  
> I'm not going entirely cannon, just to focus more on Sherlock's inner thoughts. The dialogue has obviously been changed to something more relevant to the situation that the characters are in. Some quotes are indeed from episodes and I do not own them. I've decided to turn this into a slow burn (For the Johnlock, that is), so be warned the first few chapters are going to contain quite a bit of angst with minimal relief except for in dream sequence and in a drug fueled sex haze. So, just be warned that user Sherlock is ahead for this chapter.

“John Hamish Watson…” Sherlock began, standing in his best suit in the center of circular tables that held each of John and Mary’s wedding guests. Faces he knew, those he considered friends, or at least acquaintances, or strangers Sherlock had never seen before. He turned slowly to look back towards the table at the head of the hall and raise his glass a bit, inclining his head towards the doctor. “John Watson has been my best friend for many years, though I was never exactly accustomed to the idea of being ‘best friends’ with someone. I do not have many friends, as most of the people sitting in this room can attest to. I never have. I find human interaction generally exhausting and pointless if unnecessary. Or I used to, rather, but John has taught me the importance of having friends and connections. Today, you are marrying the woman that means the most to you, and I am honoured to be considered the secondary in your life to your beautiful wife.”

_I hate her for taking you away from me, John._ His brain was working against the words of praise that he gave to John and Mary. 

His speech dragged on for a ridiculously long amount of time, most of it being interluded by some ‘clever’ remark about his views on something. “Regardless, I must say in the position of my best friend, John is the wisest and most courageous man that I have ever known. He has saved my life on several occasions, and while I may solve the cases, he always remembers to save the lives involved. He is a kind and selfless man, though I may not openly admit that often, and he is not entirely an idiot.” He paused for the chuckle from the crowd. “He is a man of a much higher resolve than I myself can say. For what he lacks in deductive ability, he makes up for in his ever present need to take care of those around him and he has earned my highest respect in doing just that.”

When Sherlock moved to go sit beside of John again, the shorter man stood up and pulled him into a tight hug, giving him a few pats on the back. 

“Sherlock, you clot.” He said, voice obviously breaking from some form of emotion. He had never heard Sherlock talk of him in such a high regard, even if a few of those things he spoke about could have been considered offensive. He knew Sherlock well enough to know he was trying impressively hard to make John understand that he appreciated him as a friend. It worked. Despite knowing in action, he could get used to Sherlock saying that he appreciated John, if nothing else came of the wedding day.

***  
The night continued after finishing a case and making an arrest of the Mayfly Man, the wedding photographer who Sherlock found to be the one committing one of his favorite unsolved cases. It gave Sherlock enough of a distraction to not force himself to leave during the dance reception, though he desperately wanted to. The hole that was forming inside of him was slowly growing deeper the more he saw the connection between John and Mary. Of course, Mary was witty and observant, much like himself, but she seemed to have some sway over John that Sherlock never imagined he could give to the retired army Captain. 

After playing the violin for John and Mary’s dance, he distracted himself with making deductions with Janine Hawkins about men she was considering to take home with her that evening. She had jokingly tried to flirt with Sherlock about a tradition for the Bridesmaid and Best Man to have sex with each other, but he was far too involved in his own thoughts to even make an attempt to understand the flirtation. He simply allowed her attempts to falter off into her wandering off to find something more to drink before the night concluded. 

He managed to force himself to interact for a few hours before he made his way to John and Mary, smiling just a bit at the happy couple. 

“I’m afraid I must be leaving, John, but let me first say this. My first and last vow is whatever it takes, whatever happens from now on, I will always be there for the three of you... I mean two of you.”

John looked at Sherlock, then to Mary, then back to Sherlock, looking a bit awestruck by Sherlock misspeaking. “What in the hell do you mean, Sherlock?”

“Well, Mary I would suggest taking a pregnancy test. I’ve noticed a bit of changes in your appetite and taste that could suggest early signs of pregnancy. Though the statistics of the first Trime--” 

John cut him off. “Sherlock, shut up. How did I not see the signs! I’m a bloody doctor!” 

Mary smiled lovingly at her husband, gently touching his arm. “Because it’s your wedding day, your day off. You shouldn’t have to think like a doctor, we’ve just married!” 

Sherlock’s lips quirked up, a bit of a tight expression. _Don’t touch him. Stop touching him._ His heart twisted in his chest and a lump formed in his throat. “Well, yes, don’t panic. You’ve had plenty of practice being parents. You’ll hardly need me around now that you’re having a real baby.” 

***

With a few more exchanges of jokes and conversation, Sherlock left the venue, pulling his coat collar up around his face and neck as he walked towards the street to hail a cab. On the cab ride home, his mind raced with angry thoughts towards Mary, angry thoughts towards the fact he seemed to be slowly losing the relationship he had established with John. Though it may not have been as intimate as Sherlock wanted it to be, he still hated how much John’s actions towards Sherlock had changed when Mary came into the picture. 

_She stole him right out from under you. She took advantage of your mistake in making John think that you had died. What an idiot._

Sherlock closed his eyes, sniffing a bit and clearing his throat to hold back the wave of emotion crashing to the front of his mind. He sank back into the seat of the car and watched the sky, wasting no time to find his way into his apartment when the cab stopped outside of 221B Baker Street. He moved into the sitting room and stared at where John used to sit for hours on end, mind wandering to different places and different scenarios for what the future held for the duo. 

Though Sherlock was not necessarily a creature of affection or longing, something about John Watson made his heart jump to a gallop and sent a bit of a fog into his mind palace, wafting over his well constructed courtyard and making its presence ever known by the continued clouding of vision, even if ever so slightly, it was not ideal to be working with an inhibited mind. Sherlock had a decision to make, and the two possible paths were continued indifference and selfish sabotage. He cared too much for John to hurt him at any capacity again such as he had when he fell, so he knew his selfish option would be pushed to the back recesses of his mind. That left one final decision for Sherlock Holmes, and that was to bury himself so deep in his work that he wouldn’t have the time to think of John Watson anymore.

***  
And that is exactly what he managed to do, or so he thought. He had solved more cases than he had in ages by himself, some of them he solved with John, or Mary, thankful to have the help when he needed to verbalize his ideas. 

This case in particular required him to go undercover, and to do so, Sherlock always believed it was entirely best to completely immerse himself in what he was facading to be. This case involved him facading as a drug addict and staying in one of his usual drug dens. 

The facade only got so far before Sherlock was looking quite a bit rough, face with stubble a few days old and eyes heavily circled in purple and red. His hair clung to his forehead and he often had fits of shivering, but still managed to make his way into the outside world, sitting at a pub and watching a man across the bar. His target had left ages ago with some young man, to have sex, he deduced, but it was not the right time to follow the man yet, he needed undeniable proof to approach him. 

The man he was now watching across the bar was a retired military man, hair cropped short and cleaning around the neckline. A visible tan just below the collar of his shirt and under the cuffs of his sleeves. He figured of a younger age than John, but his clouded mind somehow managed to see a silver haired John Watson in one of his hideous jumpers and a jacket. He moved closer down the bar, sipping his water and casting occasional glances at the man there. He knew he wouldn’t be able to flirt, let alone take this man home, if it were not for the fact it was a gay bar. The man turned a bit when he noticed Sherlock sit close to him and smiled.

“Well, don’t you look a bit interestin’.” He drawled, moving his eyes up Sherlock’s torso to his face. “Got a nice chiseled face and pretty eyes. Fancy a drink?” He asked, scooting closer towards Sherlock’s stool and waving the bartender down. 

Sherlock hesitated for only a moment. “Of course, that would be a kind gesture I suppose.” 

The man’s eyes lit up and he ordered another round of whatever he had been drinking, handing one of the drinks to Sherlock, who took his time sipping it. He was already high, he didn’t need the added inhibition of alcohol as well. Hours passed and the man was guiding Sherlock down the sidewalk, laughing about some Joke Sherlock wasn’t listening to. He only saw John telling some story about work, laughing and waving his arms for emphasis.

_What are you doing you clot? The John Watson in his head hissed. Stop it. You’re killing yourself! How much have you taken? What are you taking? Sherlock?!!_

***  
When Sherlock regained control of his thoughts, he was in the bedroom of the man from the bar, his improvised John Watson. He was resting back against the pillows of this stranger’s bed after they had suggested a shower, taking time to clean Sherlock and learn curves of his body. He even would whisper, “amazing” from time to time, making it even easier for Sherlock to close his eyes and imagine John. 

The stranger was gentle with him, taking time to prepare him and give attention his cock before he rolled on a condom and had his way with Sherlock. The whole time, resting on his stomach and keeping his eyes closed, he imagined John as the one touching him, sucking dark bruises along his neck and shoulder. He imagined blunt fingernails digging into his hips, and rough calloused hands kneading flesh anywhere there was a good enough grip. He imagined John as the one fucking him, groaning and whispering little curses under his breath. 

But Sherlock knew at the end of the day, the man was not John.

_It would never be John…_ His mind whimpered.

When Sherlock managed to meet his climax, he buried his face in the blankets under him, letting out a choked sob of a name as all of his nerve endings were set ablaze and fizzled out to raw short circuit points. He had sobbed John’s name into those sheets, and wanted nothing more than the sobs to fall on the ears of his best friend. 

***

Sherlock felt absolutely pathetic as he hailed a cab back to the flat on Baker Street. He felt like he had reached a new low in his life that he had never even been capable of, especially since he didn’t even know the man’s name that he just allowed himself to be fucked into a mattress by. 

When inside the apartment, he found John sitting at one of the kitchen chairs, arms crossed over his chest and a somewhat hateful expression on his face. Sherlock looked quickly over John, focusing on his hands to see if the other was still wearing his wedding ring. Disappointment rushed over him when he saw John indeed was, and he perked up to his normal straight posture. 

“John, what are you doing here? It’s very late and Mary is very pregnant… I don’t believe you should take chances in not being there for her when sh--” 

“Shut your bloody mouth, Sherlock. What are you on?”

Sherlock looked a bit shocked and avoided John’s eyes. “Nothing I haven’t taken before John, I know what I’m doing.” 

“Bullshit. Sherlock Holmes has one night stands now?” He asked, standing up and clenching his fists at his sides. Sherlock dropped his eyes, only for a moment, before lifting them to meet John’s again. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve been on a cas--”

“Stop lying to me Sherlock, it’s starting to make me fucking angry.” He said lowly. Sherlock sighed and sat in his armchair, and to the detective’s surprise, John grabbed his chin, then checked Sherlock’s eyes with a penlight from his breast pocket. “Jesus Sherlock, how long have you been doing this? Weeks?” 

Sherlock didn’t answer. 

“I found out that you had went out thanks to Mycroft. He had told me you went to a gay bar, for what he thought was a case, and left with a stranger in stupor.” There was a venom in his words that made Sherlock feel a budding ache of guilt somewhere deep in his gut. “Are you going to tell me why you went home with someone? Because if not you’re telling me what drugs you’re on.” 

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, opening his mouth and closing it again, pressing his lips into a thin line before he answered John, listing off what all he had taken and how much. He also produced a handwritten list, the one Mycroft had always asked him to write when he used. 

John took it and looked up at Sherlock in awe. “There is no possible way you’ve taken all of this.” He said in a small, wavering voice. “Sherlock what the hell do you think you’re doing to yourself?!”

“It is for a case, John.” He managed, voice holding a bit of firmness to it. 

“A case?! What case would require you to take this combination of drugs, and that many? None, exactly. Now get up, I’m taking you to the hospital.” John said, grabbing Sherlock’s arm.

“John, no… I’m fine, I feel fine. I just need to relax. Work out of this high and I will be perfectly fine, I promi--” 

Sherlock managed to double over as John released his arm, vomiting onto the floor beneath him on all fours. John cursed rather loudly and the last thing that Sherlock heard was an echoing call of his name as he slowly sank into the blackness pulling at the edges of his vision.

_And I love you, John Watson._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a bit more into the angst realm. I figured the longing of Sherlock Holmes would be a somewhat interesting concept to play off of while the detective tries to come to terms with his jealousy of Mary.


	3. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is in the hospital, and John is pissed off. Sherlock doesn't want to reveal to John what he found out about Mary during his most recent case, but he feels like he's betraying his friend all over again if he continues to keep it a secret. 
> 
> More angst. And some violence. There is a bit of happiness towards the end of the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *MENTIONS OF DRUG USE IN THIS CHAPTER/ DISCUSSION OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS*  
> Since it's a holiday, I've been cranking out chapters pretty quickly with the free time I have. This one is going to ease the angst a bit towards the end, but only briefly. This chapter is going to be a rough ride to the end of it so buckle up D:

Sherlock woke under the bright lights of a hospital room, squinting against the pain that stung in his eyes. His eyes adjusted to the assaulting brightness and his first instinct was to look towards the chair by his bedside. It was empty, save for an old aluminum walking cane leaned against the chair back. He sighed softly and adjusted his head to stare at the ceiling and think.

***   
John had tended to Sherlock after he had gotten sick in the sitting room. When the other came to, he seemed panicked, lashing out at John and shouting nonsense before he realised that it was John who was sitting in front of him. John had gripped him by the front of his dressing gown, pulling his old tee shirt into his fists with the fabric, and setting his jaw. Sherlock could see the vein in the center of his forehead becoming visible, John’s usually cheerful face turning red with anger.

The detective wanted to draw back, but there was nothing he could do to stop John. John yanked Sherlock up fully to his feet despite their height difference and pushed Sherlock back until he had slammed him against a nearby bookcase, rocking it and causing a few books to fall to the floor with loud thumps. Sherlock had bowed his head, focusing on the white knuckles of John’s fists that were coiled tightly around the fabric of his clothes. In this context, Sherlock should have been aroused, but he felt shame burning at the back of his throat and clawing its way into his brain, whispering insults. 

The shorter man finally spoke, his voice shaking and strained through clenched teeth. 

“Are you trying to kill yourself, Sherlock? Is that what this is about? Throwing a fit because I have a life and a family to worry about?” 

Sherlock didn’t answer, he simply kept his eyes focused downward, hoping John would give up and leave, but John continued.

“Are you acting like a child because you can’t drag me along to make you feel clever? That you don’t have someone to make look daft while you finish a case?” 

Sherlock still remained silent and John stepped back. “This isn’t a game, Sherlock, where is it?” 

“What are you talking about?”  
“Where is it?! Where is your damn stash?! Your bedroom again? Huh? Answer me god dammit!”

Sherlock flinched and hung his head again. John threw open the door to Sherlock’s room so hard that the handle slammed into the wall behind it and bounced back forward again. John started ripping through Sherlock’s things to find any of the drugs left in the flat, anything Sherlock could use to get high. He even took the pack of cigarettes he had been hiding under his mattress. When John moved to the bathroom, Sherlock stood in front of the door.

“John, don’t. Stop! Stop.” He managed, spreading his arms out over the wall and John let out a grunt of frustration.

“Sink it is!” He growled, moving into the kitchen and putting what was left of Sherlock’s stash into the sink, turning on the tap and washing most of it down. He put the cigarettes in his own pocket and turned to face Sherlock. “You are an idiot, Sherlock Holmes. A bloody idiot and selfish man. You can’t let me be happy for a second if you aren’t part of the reason I am, can you? You can’t be happy for Mary and I.” 

Sherlock ground his teeth together. It was his turn to be pissed off. “You’re the one who abandoned me for her!”

“ABANDONED YOU? YOU PRETENDED TO BE DEAD FOR TWO YEARS!” He roared. 

Sherlock didn’t flinch, he felt like he had a justified right to be upset, and he could continue to argue now. “Oh shut up! It was for your own safety. You would have gotten yourself killed if it weren’t for me. I came back, John, I gave you your miracle. Now give me my bloody cigarettes.”

“No. These go, too. I can’t even leave you alone for a week to tend to my pregnant wife without you trying to ruin your life. You are an infant, Sherlock. No, worse than an infant.” 

“And you are a selfish man who would rather abandon his supposed best friend for a woman than help him. Not caring enough to notice when your best friend has reached a new level of low. I may be suicidal--” 

At that, John froze and stared at Sherlock for a long time. The tensing of John’s muscles made Sherlock stop in his tracks with his snarky comment. He moved across the room faster than the detective had thought, his drug fogged brain having a difficult time keeping up. That’s when John Watson hit him. He hit him once and grabbed the front of his shirt again, knuckles connecting to his jaw, then the second hit connected to his check. 

“Do you think this is a bloody game?! Do you?! I drove her in the middle. Of. The. Night!” He snarled, each word punctuated by a hit to a now slumped Sherlock. “I care about you, but you can’t keep doing this to me! You can’t keep treating me like rubbish and expect me to want to stick around!” 

By now Sherlock was spitting blood onto the floor of the hallway, tilting his head back to stop the gush of blood coming from his nose. John stopped long enough to watch Sherlock’s face, to see him sitting helplessly on the floor despite John knowing that the other man knew how to fight back. Sherlock managed through the pain in the entirety of his face, to look at John, catch his eyes.

“I’m… Sorry, John. I-I don’t want… I don’t want to die.” He said softly, tears starting to form in his eyes. 

John felt regret wash over him, but his pride and anger were far too great for him to act gentle now.

“Yeah, you are. I’m calling an ambulance.” 

Sherlock watched John walk into the sitting room and lost the shred of consciousness he had been holding onto so desperately for the last few moments. 

_I’m sorry, too, Sherlock. For leaving you alone for so long… I never meant to hurt you… Oh, love… Come here. I’m here now, Sherlock. I’m yours._

*** 

Sherlock was not only in the hospital, John had insisted that he be placed on suicide watch for a minimum of two weeks. Sherlock naturally thought it was silly, because John knew better than most that Sherlock was not capable of killing himself. He found the idea to be doing more harm that good, despite feeling at times that those around him would be happier if he wasn’t there to make rude comments or make them feel like idiots. 

After two weeks, Sherlock walked out of the hospital with a bandage over the bridge of his nose and stitches in a few parts of his face. John had given him a decently dark shiner and Sherlock knew full-heartedly he deserved what he got. He had been hateful, and irritable thanks to all of the drugs in his system, but now he had time to clear his head, without the influence of drugs. 

He had to give John a formal apology. The man deserved that at least, especially for what Sherlock had put him through. 

***

The cab ride to John’s home was a stressful one. When he rang the doorbell, he was convinced John was going to knock his lights out again, but he let out a deep breath, clenching his fist on his hand that wasn’t on the door. 

“What do you want Sherlock?”

“Well, I…” he paused and closed his eyes. “Two things…” 

“What? I’m busy. Mary will be home soon.”

“One of those things will be about Mary. The first… Is I would like to say I’m sorry, John. For how I acted. I reacted poorly and should have been more appreciative of you being there to help me.”

John seemed to relax a bit, but still looked tense, eyes looking passed Sherlock.

“Did you find out about Mary, too?” He asked softly. 

Sherlock looked a bit surprised at John’s comment. Find out what about Mary? Did John know that her identity was a lie? That she was essentially a trained assassin? 

“John, from what I know, Mary is not who she says she is.”

John hung his head, nodding some. “Yes…” Was his weak reply. “I know… That’s why she… isn’t home. Rosie was born the day after I took you to the hospital… and she disappeared the night after we brought our daughter home. I had thought maybe she just left, I’ve had that happen before without an explanation.” 

_Ouch, he’s talking about you, idiot._

“She left me a note, explaining most everything. Someone had found her and she had to… Disappear for a while. I thought it was going to be longer than a week, but… She’s supposed to be coming home today.” The hope didn’t reach John’s voice, or his eyes. 

Sherlock suddenly felt even worse for his outburst. John looked up and sighed. “Do you… want to meet her?” 

“Yes, of course, John.” 

***   
Inside of the house, John led Sherlock to the nursery. Rosie was sleeping in her crib with her arms stretched out and head tilted off to one side. Sherlock knew he was in trouble when he saw the child. He knew that seeing this child and being a part of her life, even if it could not be at John’s side the way he wished, was something he had to do. When Sherlock leaned a bit over the crib, Rosie blinked her eyes open and looked at Sherlock, yawning widely and shifting her arms and legs. Sherlock looked to John, arms up a bit as if ready to scoop the child out of her crib.

“May I…?” He asked. John seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“Uh, yeah. Go ahead.”

When Sherlock picked up the little girl, she immediately rested her tiny head in the crook of his shoulder and fell back to sleep. Sherlock walked with her a bit and closed his eyes. There was something calming about the feeling of this child, John’s child, so calm in his arms. This little girl who usually cried if anyone held her that wasn't John, Mary, Molly, or Mrs. Hudson. He had imagined that Rosie would have started screaming when Sherlock picked her up, but she hadn’t, not even fussed at all. 

John looked a bit surprised, seeing how tender Sherlock was with the child and how calm his daughter was. 

“She never sleeps in someone’s arms like that..” He said softly. “They always have to be sitting down… She’s normally so fussy…”  
Sherlock smiled a bit. “She’s absolutely perfect, John…” 

John smiled some, watching Sherlock hold his daughter and something in his chest tightened. He stood straighter at the feeling and seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. 

**No. Not again. Not anymore. I’m with Mary now. I can’t feel this way.** John thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate the kudos and such on this fic! I've loved writing it. I hope you all are enjoying how the story is developing.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fan fiction in a while, but since I rekindled my love for Johnlock, I figured that it would only be appropriate to give them some love (literally). I hope that you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to make this a full slow burn fic or just a couple of chapters. I suppose it all depends on how well this work is received! <3
> 
> EDIT: I AM CURRENTLY AWAY FROM MY COMPUTER FOR NEW YEAR'S. I will be attempting to write bits and pieces from my mobile here and there, but I will expect to go back to regularly uploading sometime during or after the first!


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